not all who wander are lost

Weff felt like a thief, standing in the middle of a bustling market-square, wearing his grey cloak with the hood up despite the heat.

Nevertheless, he kept it on. In fact, he pulled it lower over his eyes when he walked up to a booth selling herbs. His fingers felt the herbs, and he even sniffed some as he searched for the kinds he needed. As he found them, he placed them carefully into neat stacks, mentally counting up the cost.

“Can I help you?” the booth’s owner asked. Weff detected the subtle wariness and tried not to show his own. He gestured to his stack and even pushed them forward to emphasize. The owner nodded, and deftly twisted each stack together with a small bit of twine. Weff watched, desperate to just pay the man and go. The owner counted the herbs and smiled gruffly. 

“Four copper, two iron.” He said. Weff bit down on his lip. He had known it would be costly, but he had hoped he had overestimated the amount. He had not. With a sigh, he carefully brought his coin sack out and slowly laid out the heavy pieces which the owner demanded. Setting down the last piece of copper, Weff felt the atmosphere change, and an insurmountable thunder of distrust washed over him so strong he almost stumbled back from the force. Glancing up quickly, his eyes sharpened on the owner before him. 

“They are all real,” he said quietly, softly, careful not to let his voice be memorable. The owner shifted uncomfortably.

“Of course, good traveller. Never would have thought otherwise,” he said, scooping up the coins and handing Weff his bag of herbs. Weff smiled, bemused. He was annoyed at the man's lie. He was tired of how they always denied the emotions he was cursed to feel so strongly. The emotions of others. 

Weff took the bag, nodded his thanks, and left quietly. He drew concealment around him like a cloak. Now, no matter how hard the owner looked for him, he would simply fade into the crowd. Just another unremarkable person to be overlooked by the passing eye.

As he slipped though the bustlingly crowd, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Looking around, he spotted four darkly clad figures lurking off to the side.

Weff looked away quickly, dread spreading in his gut. He had stayed in one place too long. He could sense the eyes of the Hunters were on him. And they were getting closer. Weff felt anticipation, greed, and hunger for the catch all at once and the force of these emotions caused him to stumble a little. With shaking hands, he secured his satchel tightly to his body and ran. 

 Around him, lightning flashed through his filthy windows, followed by a terrific crash of thunder. A merry fire crackled happily in the hearth casting the room in a warm, happy glow, while steam sneaked out from beneath the black pot where some sort of stew was bubbling. A small, black cat was curled on Scorpious’ lap, breathing soothingly. A soft pure rumbled in his throat whenever Scorpious would absently stroke his head.

 Books rearranged themselves up on their shelves. Some of the older ones flipped their pages to clear away dust from the binding, while others sank further into the shelf, protecting themselves from the humidity coming from the rain. Above his head, dozens of candles lazily floated around, bobbing this way and that, adding to the cheery light. Succulents, struggling for life, cascaded down from the tops of the many bookshelves which had somehow been shoved into the small space. They dangled from the ceiling and fought for sun on the windowsills.

The room smelt of fire, books and damp earth. The rugs were tea stained and thread bare, but they somehow made the room feel homely and lived in. Nothing could disrupt this peaceful atmosphere.